


You Can’t Handle the Truth

by anyothergirl415



Series: A Quotable Verse [3]
Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-18
Updated: 2010-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-26 23:45:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anyothergirl415/pseuds/anyothergirl415
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misha’s folks are in town. Mike’s not pleased. Misha’s not much either for that matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sometime during the month of November Misha got on a Star Trek quote kick. It was equally impressive and annoying, but mostly amusing because he kept picking obscure and odd characters to address Jensen as. And if it wasn’t for the man’s new adorkable boyfriend, he probably would have been a bit intolerable in his annoyance level.

Mostly Mike sat back and watched with amused eyes.

Misha would say, “Are you out of your Vulcan mind?”

Jensen would roll his eyes and throw a handful of Skittles – kept on hand for Jared’s seemingly never ending sugar cravings – Misha’s way. Mike ate them from his boyfriend’s lap and grinned.

Then there was the time Mike stumbled sleepily out of Misha’s bedroom to find both Misha and Jensen holding the handle of the coffee pot, clearly arguing over who got the last cup. Misha quipped, “Prayer, Mr. Saavik. The Klingons don't take prisoners.”

Jensen let him have the cup just because he got the pronunciation right – and insinuated his own life as a Klingon – and only scowled for a few minutes while the next pot was brewing. Until Jared joined them in his (un)usual morning peppiness and dipped Jensen back in a lingering kiss. Mike gave Misha a look and shrugged. “Ah, the honeymoon stage.”

Not that he and Misha weren’t like that all the time, but Mike liked to think he was a bit more suave than Jared. And Misha told him as much with a gentle kiss and the squeeze of his hipbone in passing.

Once Misha had said, “he is intelligent, but not experienced. His pattern indicates two-dimensional thinking.” Which Jensen took as a direct insult and refused to speak to him for an entire hour until Misha produced a bag of M&Ms and silently offered them over.

Mike had no idea how that healed all wounds but he’d gotten used to accepting things as they happened. Usually when Misha was involved, you’d never get the whole story. Sometimes it was better to just go with the flow.

The day before Thanksgiving Mike kept a mental tally of the Star Trek references and the ways in which Jensen spazzed in result of them. It went something like this.

Pulling cinnamon rolls from the oven Misha had looked toward a sleep ruffled Jensen and smirked at the small pattern of hickies decorating his neck. Mike knew what was coming even before the words were spoken. “For a moment there, I thought you were just a dumb hick who only has sex with farm animals.”

Mike had then spent the following hour in the shower trying to wash sugary frosting from his boyfriend’s hair. Well, alright, only thirty minutes washing sugary frosting, the rest was spent on his knees between Misha’s spread legs, thoroughly massaging every inch of his boyfriend’s cock and balls with his tongue. If he had to be honest, Mike might admit to a slight obsession with the taste of Misha’s skin. It was only lethal in withdrawal stages however so Mike figured as long as he kept his dosage up he’d be alright.

The following remarks were made during a morning marathon session of the new God of War. Mike only vaguely registered them since he was not removing his eyes from Kratos or insane acts of beheading on the screen for anything short of physical stimulation.

“I like this ship! You know, it's exciting!”

“See, that didn’t even have to do with anything Misha, god.”

“Dammit, man! I'm a doctor, not a physicist!”

“I know you’re just doing it to be annoying.”

“I'm giving her all she's got, Captain!”

“Dude, I will punch you.”

At this point Mike paused the game long enough to smack Jensen on the back of the head and insist that no, he would not be punching his boyfriend. Then he resumed playing, and the conversation picked up once more.

“You proceed from a false assumption. I am a Vulcan. I have no ego to bruise.”

“Does that mean I get to call you a pointy eared bastard?”

Mike could kind of imagine the pleased look on Misha’s face – there was nothing he loved more than someone interplaying with his quotes – then the door opened and brought with it Jared and a large bucket of KFC.

“So help me, I'm actually pleased to see you!” Misha cheered and pushed up from his spot on the couch, stepping around Mike who had been sitting between his legs on the ground.

Jared was pretty funny to watch with the quotes because it seemed like he was always trying to place them, figure out what movie they came from and maybe what followed in sequence. So his face would go lax for a moment every time Misha spoke and the others would simply watch, often amused.

“Uh yeah, I brought chicken,” Jared lifted the bucket and the bag hooked around his arm and carried them toward the kitchen, Jensen following automatically.

Mike didn’t need to look to know the resulting squeak was from Jared pinching his boyfriend’s ass. He shook his head and turned back to his screen, only to smile softly and glance up when fingers brushed through his hair. Misha stared down at him with crystal clear blue eyes and there really wasn’t much of an option outside Mike tugging him down into his lap for a long crash collide of silky soft lips.

When they finally got around to joining the two J’s in the kitchen for lunch Mike’s lips were pleasant numb and Misha’s cheeks were flushed. Jensen smirked like he knew something secret and Misha grinned. “Yeoman, what was the problem down there?” He pointed toward Jensen’s crotch and Mike nearly spilt the gravy he was pouring over his mashed potatoes.

“Are you suggesting I have a problem with my lower regions?” Jensen gaped at him, looking toward Mike for some confirmation on the subject.

“If you are referring to the Kolinahr, Doctor, you are correct.” How Misha managed to keep a straight face and say that, Mike had no clue. At this point he was sensing the beginning of the third world war or something, right here in the kitchen over a bucket of KFC.

Jared looked just as apprehensive. Which was actually a cute look on the kid and Mike made a mental note to tell Misha to make him look that way more often. There was nothing wrong with appreciating the scenery after all.

“You know Misha, they have names for people like you.” Jensen scowled, or pouted really since he wasn’t really angry, just slightly abused from the persistent Star Trek teasing.

“Fascinating.” Misha didn’t even miss a beat and he lifted his plate of food, turning to give Mike a warm smile. “Damn it, Bones, I need you. Badly!”

With that he left the room and Mike stared at his back until it disappeared around the corner. Then his eyes shifted over to Jensen and suspicion grew. “Alright, what did you do?”

“Excuse me?” Jensen huffed, clearly not expecting to be the target of an interrogation when he was already on the receiving end of a quote beating.

“Misha likes to tease, _trust me_ I know this-“

“Whoa mental images-“

“Shut up Jared,” Mike easily skipped over the interruption, gaze flickering only a moment toward the taller man then back on Jensen. Who, by this point, was actually looking a little guilty. “What. Did. You. Do.” Mike could look intimidating when he had to. Like right now, when he fixed the man with narrowed eyes that suggested how serious he was.

“It’s just, well, last week his mom called right?” Already warning bells were going off in Mike’s mind. He knew how his boyfriend didn’t really get along with his parents, more and more over the years probably in direct result of the quote thing, and family calls meant tension. “Only, Misha was at your place, I answered and was just going to take a message…”

“Did you forget to tell him?” Jared asked curiously, hand curling over Jensen’s forearm in a silent show of support.

Mike knew it had to be bigger than that, especially considering how Misha preferred missing most phone calls. He wasn’t so good talking to people through devices, or period, hence the way he tended to simply show up in random places. “What happened Jensen?”

The guilt was almost palpable by this stage and Mike had to resist the urge to reach out, grab the man and shake him roughly to get him to confess. He’d known Jensen first after all, and the guy was responsible for introducing him to the best thing that ever happened to him so Mike figured he may owe him. At least enough to not go through with kicking his ass unless absolutely necessary.

“Misha’s mom, Alina, she mentioned they were going on vacation so we were talking about it and she maybe, possibly, suggested that they might come here for a few days to see Misha. And well, I kind of, you know it’s the holidays and stuff and it’s been awhile so I thought that maybe, Misha might want to see his parents so I said that it would be fine if they stayed here in the spare room.”

Jared, who had no knowledge of Misha’s family history apparently, shrugged and looked disappointed that the revelation wasn’t something bigger. “So, no big deal. I wish I had a spare room for my parents to stay in when they visited.”

“It is a big deal. Damnit Jensen, you know how Misha feels about all of that.” Mike huffed and threw his fork down on his plate, lifting the entire item to carry. “As far as I’m concerned, you deserve a punishment far worse than abuse by Star Trek quotes.”

“You don’t feel my pain!” Jensen called after him. “If I have to get called a Vulcan or Ensign one more time I might _die_.”

Mike heard Jared’s soft and mocking, “my poor baby,” before he pushed Misha’s door open and stepped inside the quiet room. His boyfriend was sitting on his bed, methodically cutting the corn from the cob. He always did that and Mike imagined, if Misha spoke normally, he might explain how he never liked the way the corn got stuck in his teeth.

“When are they coming then?” Mike asked once he’d gotten himself situated on the bed, pushing the edges of his mashed potatoes up to complete the bowl for the gravy in the middle.

If Misha was surprised that Mike knew about his parent’s visit he didn’t show it. Instead he jerked his head toward the calendar and sighed loud enough to make it clear it was too soon in his book. After some negotiating with his plate to ensure no food was spilled, Mike reached out and lifted the calendar page. The second weekend in December had a straight line drawn through the Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

“Two nights?” For two people so obviously displeased by their son’s quirky behavior, that seemed like an awfully long visit. But then, a visit at all seemed unlikely. When Misha nodded, Mike frowned. “It’s going to be bad isn’t it?”

Another nod and Misha was resolutely not meeting his eyes. That meant there was more to it than Mike knew. “Things are getting too complicated.”

It wasn’t until after Mike had finished off a drumstick that he made an attempt at guessing Misha’s train of thought. “Do they know you’re gay?” A slow nod, no eye contact, which led too, “do they know who I am?”

At this Misha did look up and his eyes were sad. I told Mike what he’d already known. Of course Misha’s parents didn’t know about him, it wasn’t as if the man could give a proper explanation when the only real reference of Mike’s name was in the form of _Monsters Inc._ quotes. He was sure there were others out there but he couldn’t recall any of them.

There wasn’t really an explanation for the level of hurt Mike was feeling at this. He battled it silently, telling himself how stupid it was to be hurt by something he knew couldn’t be changed. But even then that flare of pride in him said Misha could have at least emailed them, written a letter, _anything_ to suggest to his parents that there was this guy he was _supposedly_ in love with.

Mike stopped that train of thoughts before it got out of hand. “It’s okay; I know that telling your parents about a boyfriend is hard no matter the circumstances.” Mike didn’t tell Misha that he’d told his mom about the man only days after they first met and she was up-to-date on how madly in love Mike was. He understood that some families simply functioned different.

And if Mike’s parents were overly excited to meet Misha as soon as possible, that was only because Mike was one of those fortunate few that had super supportive family structures.

The food on his plate stared mockingly up at him and Mike couldn’t summon up the energy to even pretend he was hungry for more. After he’d set the plate to the side and turned back, Misha was still watching him only now his eyes were watering. And _crap_ clearly he hadn’t sounded convincing enough to ensure his boyfriend he wasn’t going to hold this against him.

“Hey, c’mon Mash, it’s okay,” Mike reached out to take the man’s plate and set it beside his own on the desk before pulling Misha into his arms. “Look, I want to be here to help in any way I can. So if that means hanging around when they’re here, then yeah I will. If it means making myself scarce, I’ll do that too. Whatever you need.” The only issue being Misha’s inability to tell Mike exactly what that might be.

“We’re a strange pair aren’t we?” Misha murmured and twisted himself on Mike’s lap until he could lay his head on the man’s shoulder and wrap an arm around his middle.

“I think you’re a bit strange. I’m dull in comparison,” Mike smiled softly and pressed his lips to the chocolate rich curls on top of the man’s head. “You want me to be here?” Mike could feel Misha’s head slowly move up and down against his shirt. “Can I introduce myself as your boyfriend?” Another slow nod and he felt a thousand times better.

Things were going to be intense when Misha’s parents showed up, he was fairly certain of that, but at least he could be the rock to keep his boyfriend steady. He didn’t even realize how important that would be to him until he was facing it down.

“I'd rather die tomorrow than live a hundred years without knowing you,” Misha whispered and fingers tightened around Mike’s shirt, bunching up the fabric.

It wasn’t until he felt something warm and wet against his chest that he realized his boyfriend was crying. “Mish mash,” he breathed, fingers tilting under the man’s chin and tilting his head back. “What is it?”

“When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with a person, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” It felt a little like Misha was maybe storing this one up, saving it for that very right moment to take one line said by Billy Crystal in a movie and make it his own, give it a whole new meaning.

Mike’s breath caught in his throat. Which meant Misha had done his job right. “We’ve got forever for the rest of our lives,” he whispered and leaned in, capturing soft lips against his own and smiling against the hint of a taste of salt.

Even as he lost himself in the heat and passion, the silky smooth feel of warm lips and equally warm skin, Mike registered a thought. Those tears, the emotion in his boyfriend’s eyes, may have been in part from this crazy love that sometimes seemed too big to properly digest. But there was more to it than that, Mike knew. There was something underlying, the thing that made Misha who he was.

One time he’d asked, just curious to see how Misha would handle the direct question. He’d plopped down on the couch beside his boyfriend and laid it out there. “Misha? What happened to you in the past that makes you talk only in quotes now?”

There had been a moment Mike expected Misha to be upset with him for prying but clearly the man must have gotten asked it enough in the past to be accustomed to not being offended. He’d simply shrugged and gone back to looking at his magazine, quietly murmuring a moment later. “We are who we are, how we got here doesn't matter. What matters is- what do we do now?”

At the time Mike hadn’t wanted to push things so he didn’t tell Misha he didn’t really know anything about their now. All the facts he’d learned about his boyfriend he picked up from watching and asking Jensen. Considering Misha was already stuck on the quote thing when he and Jensen first met, there wasn’t much the man knew for fact.

All of these things weighed in Mike’s mind but in these moments, it was easier to forget about them. Now, when he had Misha’s body naked and exposed beneath his, Mike didn’t want to question things, ruin their perfection.

“Oh god, Misha,” Mike moaned as the man flipped him over and sank down onto his body, throwing his head back to expose a long stretch of honey tanned skin. This was heat, fire, little waves of trickling sparks that worked along his skin and jump started his heart.

Misha rolled back onto him like something dirty, finger nails digging into Mike’s chest and scratching over the skin hard enough to leave angry red lines. He gasped and moaned, clenched around Mike’s cock and pulled up. It was enough to make Mike feel it in his bones, like Misha was pulling his very soul from his body with each quick heated stroke.

It was the type of fucking that may have lasted hours but realistically was only too brief minutes. Time slowed and stopped, the world outside the bedroom door shut down and it was only them. Their shared heartbeats drumming out an erratic rhythm, sweaty skin crashed colliding with each pull push. Mike’s fingers molded hipbones and flesh, left bruises that would color the tan purple blue for days and get him hard each time he saw them. There wasn’t a name for this and Mike drank in all its intensity with labored quick inhales.

Every time Misha came when they were together he forced their eyes to meet. It was his silent way of telling Mike everything without a single word. He could feel it, somewhere deep in him, the unspoken _love, trust, promise_. Whenever this happened, whenever Mike could feel their connection running through every part of him, he would think for just a moment that this was bigger than the world. That somehow he and Misha had stumbled on some crazy whirlwind epic love thing and no one would ever get it because it was simply past being understood.

Then, like now, Misha would drop to the side and they’d disconnect from the moment. Mike would chastise himself silently for mentally sounding like a lovesick teenage girl and purposefully not mention it to Misha.

“This is it. Life will never be better, nor sweeter than this,” Misha murmured, voice blissfully deep and silky against his neck.

Mike smiled and pulled him close with an arm around his waist. “No? I hope we’re not peaking here, I’d say we’ve still got quite a few years ahead of ourselves to keep things interesting.” The answering smile could be felt and not seen but Mike only had to close his eyes to get a perfect mental image of it. “I love you too.” He finally added when the smile dimmed slightly, knowing that, in his own way, Misha had been telling him as much.

The smile returned full force; Mike matched it with his own and settled back between Misha’s warm sheets, ready for a nice long nap and round two. He was easy to please.

“No life! Without wife! Yeah yeah yeah yeaaaah yeaaah yeaaaaaah!” Misha spontaneously burst into song, which wasn’t as rare an event as one might thing, considering just how many musicals were out there. As it so happened, _Bride and Prejudice_ was one of his favorites.

With a groan Mike rolled on top of his boyfriend to get him to stop. After all, he may be the most patient boyfriend in the history of the universe, but there was really only so much he could take.

-=-=-=-

“Good morning starshine, the earth says hello!”

Judging from the bright gleam in Misha’s eyes, he had been waiting to use that one for awhile. Which wasn’t too surprising since a, Mike was usually up first and b, it was a Johnny Depp quote. Misha had a thing for Johnny Depp and it wasn’t really as closeted as he would have preferred. Then again, Mike had a _thing_ for Bradley Cooper but only because he’d seen all five seasons of Alias and well, the Hangover. Compared to the other guys, Bradley Cooper was a god.

This wasn’t about Mike’s thing for that guy though. This was about his thing for his boyfriend and the man’s adoration of Johnny Depp. Sometimes it infiltrated Mike’s life in ways he’d rather not think about.

Like the one time Misha gave him a blow job hard enough to make his spine curve off the bed in unnatural ways. Afterward Misha had sat back, licked his chops like he’d just finished a particularly tasty meal and said simply. “King.”

Or the time they went out drinking and Mike had to join in with Jensen’s groan when Misha finished his shot, slammed his palm on the table and asked loudly, “but why is the rum gone?!”

Jared had been stupidly excited about the quote, bouncing in his seat and declaring his love for Johnny Depp and all things pirate. Naturally Mike and Jensen had felt like the real adults of the group when Jared gushed about the actor and Misha sprouted out quote after quote after quote. His own way of showing affection. It was scary how many quotes Jared could join in with.

It was also pretty lame until the time Misha sway into the bedroom wearing tight leather pirate pants – sash and all – and a billowy open shirt that exposed large chunks of defined muscles. Mike had fumbled with his book, dropped it without the book mark and made quick work of pulling Misha close enough to get his lips on.

“Okay,” he had murmured, dragging his mouth open along the skin, catching a nipple between his teeth and pulling sharply. “But if you call me Will or Captain Jack, or _god_ Elizabeth, this is _so_ not happening.”

Misha had simply smirked, straddled his lap and whispered. “Yo ho ho, a pirates life for me.”

And yeah, Mike would put up with just about anything where is boyfriend was concerned. Especially if it involved sex.

-=-=-=-

Watching movies with Misha was kind of like watching that one painting show with Bob Ross. And Misha was just as quirky – if not more so – so Mike felt the analogy held strong. They, surprisingly, didn’t watch as many movies as one might think. This led Mike to believe that Misha secretly looked up quotes online and stored them away in some little vault in his mind.

Anyway, this time around they were watching _Labyrinth_ which was generally a cracky movie whether your boyfriend was quoting along with it or not. Of course hearing Misha’s voice in perfect timing sequence with nearly every line definitely added to the level of weird.

“You remind me of the babe. What babe? The babe with the power. What power? The power of voodoo. Who do? You do. Do what? Remind of the babe.”

Singing followed, Mike contemplated suffocating himself with a pillow. No offense to Misha, he totally loved the guy, but he wasn’t a very good singer. “I’d just like to see you wear those pants,” Mike mumbled during the instrumental, smirking when Misha looked over his shoulder at him.

Something about Misha’s gaze said ‘you _would_ like that’ and Mike realized with a surprising start that _yeah_ he totally would. That was reason enough alone to go back to pretending like he was actually doing his homework. Because of Misha he was going to end up in school _another_ year.

“Your mothers a fragging Aardvark!" Misha cheered gleefully and clapped his hands together.

“You’ve been in Jared’s skittles again haven’t you?” Mike laughed and flipped the page on his advance education class.

“Don't threaten me with a dead fish!” Misha gasped and smacked Mike on the back, barely hard enough to make a noise.

Mike smirked and shook his head. “You’re an odd breed darling.”

“A mental mind fuck can be nice.”

“Fuck?” Mike perked up, grinning widening. “Yes please.”

“Fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave." Misha sighed dramatically and turned back to the screen.

Mike rolled his eyes and slumped back on the couch. “Back to that again huh?”

-=-=-=-

“Oh my God! I've just been looking for my boyfriend. Have you seen him? He's a cute guy with a little mole on his right cheek." Misha burst into the room carrying a large grocery bag, depositing it on Mike’s table.

Jared was over. That wasn’t as weird as it sounded considering the four were getting together for dinner and a marathon Wii session. Jared had just come early because he and Mike had bumped into each other while crossing the campus.

“Benny and Joon! I know that one! Ha, that movie is awesome.” Jared jumped up from his spot by Mike on the couch and meandered over, poking at the grocery bag. “Mm looks tasty Misha, I hope your special meal of the night is as tasty as the vegetable lasagna last week, I never thought something without meat could be so yummy.”

Mike stood as Jared wandered off into the kitchen and smiled, crossing the room to greet his boyfriend properly. Only Misha didn’t look too pleased, which had Mike drawing up short in his steps. “What’s up Mash?”

“Hey Mike, you got any candy?” Jared’s head appeared around the doorframe, bright grin on his lips.

Mike didn’t look away from Misha, just waved a hand in his general direction. “In the Jared cabinet above the fridge.” This remark had Misha’s eyebrows lifting high across his brow and Mike thought he was putting the pieces together pretty quickly considering he was going off facial expressions alone.

“Sweet, thanks. I’m stoked I have my own cabinet.” Jared bounced back into the kitchen and quite possibly didn’t make things any better.

“No problem. Hey uh, Misha and I are gonna go talk, we’ll be back in a minute.” Mike didn’t give Misha a chance at any form of protest, simply dragged him down the hallway to the bedroom and called over his shoulder, “put the groceries away would ya?”

When the door was closed behind them Misha shook Mike’s hand off and crossed his arms, clearly unhappy with being manhandled.

“What the fuck Misha?” Mike turned to him, snapping more in surprise at being so easily pushed away. “What’s wrong?”

This was the problem with quoting movies, they only went so far. Mike’s eyebrow actually curved up in a delicate arch when Misha huffed and pointed his finger in the direction of the kitchen.

“Are you mad I didn’t go get groceries with you?” Mike prompted, already knowing that wasn’t the issue. He had a hunch what it was but _damnit_ he wasn’t going to support Misha in this insanity. Because, if he was right, than Misha was for some stupid reason, jealous. The idea that he could be, that he would even think of being jealous of Jared being there, was ridiculous.

Of course then Misha had to stomp his foot which almost had Mike laughing. _Seriously_ as far as fights went, this was ranking pretty high up there on the epically lame scale. “Misha? Are you seriously going to pull this shit with me?”

In retrospect, that probably wasn’t the _best_ thing to say.

“Don't underestimate the mentally ill. We know how to count.” Misha snapped, glaring sharper daggers at Mike then he’d ever seen before.

It was enough to have Mike stumbling backward, eyes fluttering. “Mentally… Jesus Christ Misha that’s not what you think of yourself is it?” The terminology was not one Mike would _ever_ have associated with his boyfriend.

Now Misha’s face softened and he looked away, “she's so La Vida Loca.”

Sighing softly Mike stepped into him, reaching out to grasp his hand. “Come on Misha, you’re not crazy. I mean, okay yeah you’re a little crazy. But mainly because you’re jealous of _Jared_ being here.” Mike forced a small laugh, still completely unsure by Misha’s offhand reference to himself.

With the next exhale Mike suddenly found himself up against the wall, wrists pinned up above his head, Misha’s steel blue gaze narrowing. “Mine.” He growled and though the quote – Mike was sure – was from a children’s movie, it sounded anything but PG.

“Damn,” Mike hissed, rocking forward under the sudden wave of pleasure.

“Mine, mine, mine, mine,” Misha murmured, mapping out Mike’s neck with a series of sucking kisses that inevitably pulled blood to the surface.

“Misha,” he groaned, head falling back against the wall with a loud _thump_.

“You are the only person that can make my heart beat faster and slower at the same time,” Misha murmured into his skin and cupped Mike through his jeans, pressing his palm hard into the denim.

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ,” Mike moaned loudly – too loud – forgetting there was someone else in the apartment. Apparently a jealous Misha was a very hot Misha and Mike made a mental note to invite Jared over before his boyfriend more often.

Fingers shoved down his jeans, curled around his cock and squeezed. Mike’s knees felt weak and he might have dropped down t o the ground if Misha’s other hand wasn’t still pinning his arms to the wall. He was in constant movement against the rapid stroke of Misha’s fingers, pulling him so incredibly fast to the edge it made his vision blur.

And just when he thought nothing could be hotter, Misha dropped to his knees and sucked him in one fluid movement. Wet heat soaked through him, along every inch, and Mike couldn’t help thrusting forward. Misha simply let him, let Mike curl fingers in hair meant to be pulled and fuck into his mouth at a brutal pace. Every breath he sucked in was greedy and barely managed to fill his lungs before shooting out again with the pressure Misha applied easily around him.

His lover’s name came out in a strangled moan with a long, deep thrust and Mike came so hard he saw stars. It was over just like that and Mike slumped against the wall, body trembling before he lost control of himself and sank down to the ground. “Holy shit man, that’s was fucking incredible.”

Misha grinned and shifted closer, lips crushing hard against Mike to share the taste on his tongue. Mike used the opportunity to get his boyfriend to his own release, barley sparing time to undo his jeans and pull his cock free from its confines. He wouldn’t have even done that if he knew for sure that the few clothing items Misha had at his place were for sure clean.

They kissed until Mike could feel Misha shaking then he pulled back enough to watch pleasure morph across his features in the wake of his release. It was hot enough to stir interest in him once more and on most occasions Mike would have pursued it but Jensen’s voice was suddenly right outside the closed bedroom door.

“If you two are done fucking, we’d like to start making dinner.”

Misha and Mike shared identical grins and slowly pushed up to their feet, cleaning up the mess and sharing the occasional lingering kiss. “You know he’s just jealous. He says Jared and him have only gone to second. Apparently Jared’s nervous or something. Waiting for the right moment.”

With a small laugh Misha shook his head and grabbed Mike’s arm before the man could turn to leave the room. “Time can change in every breath we take.”

“I know,” Mike nodded and pulled Misha in, hugging him tightly. It gave him some things to think about. Like obviously Misha thought Mike might be in the pursuit of someone else. Like maybe Misha was aware of just how difficult it could be to date someone with issues like he had. “Hey.” It was Mike’s turn to stop Misha from leaving the room and he pulled him close, held onto him and peered into his eyes. “You know you’re the person I love right? You’re not a burden or something I just deal with. I want you, always, in whatever way you come.”

Emotion glistened in Misha’s eyes and he nodded slowly, smiling. “I love you.” He whispered into a soft kiss and squeezed Mike’s arm before breaking away and leaving the room for real this time.

Leaving Mike rooted to the spot, wondering if that was a quote or something real.


	2. Chapter 2

Misha was nervous. Mike had figured that out the second time the man took the stove top apart and cleaned every inch of it. In fact, there wasn’t a spot of that apartment that wasn’t completely and totally clean. Mike was pretty sure he could eat off the floors if he so desired but well, he didn’t, and teasing his boyfriend about it didn’t seem like a good idea. There was a place and a time, and that certainly wasn’t when they were waiting for the man’s parents to show up.

Which happened just about then. There was a crisp, clear knock at the door and a flash of Misha’s panic bright eyes before they headed down the hallway. Mike lingered back, quietly observing, while Misha turned the lock and pulled the door open.

Mike noticed several things in quick fashion something like this. Misha had his mother’s eyes and his father’s hair. He got his height from the man as well but the more prominent features along his body – his jaw and cheekbones – came from his mom. Seeing them all together was a bit surreal because Misha was a clear part of both and yet, nothing like them at all.

“Misha honey, you look amazing,” Mrs. Collins, Alina, pulled Misha in for a tight hug and smiled at him. Her eyes watered and Mike suspected that was likely because she hadn’t seen him for more than a year. Longer, he thought, but couldn’t be sure.

“Misha.” Mr. Collins, who Mike hadn’t learned the name of, nodded briskly and offered his son a crisp handshake.

It made Misha flinch but he covered it well. But Mike noticed because he was trained in all things Misha related. He added it to the list of facts.

“Ello,” Misha said softly, quiet like he was embarrassed or something to be quoting _Labyrinth_ to his parents.

It didn’t appear that they made the connection though, since neither looked particularly put off at the moment. Though if Mike had to guess, Mr. Collins looked unhappy to be here and was likely brought against his will. Or maybe he just lived in a perpetual state of unhappy.

“Who’s this?” Alina asked curiously, spotting Mike hovering a few feet in the background.

“Mike,” Misha supplied and turned enough to give Mike an apologetic smile. Like maybe he wanted to introduce him properly but there wasn’t a quote that directly said, _this is the man I’m in love with._

“Hi, nice to meet you.” Mike stepped forward, offering his hand.

“You as well,” Alina nodded, grasping his hand with small, dainty fingers that presented clearly manicured nails. She still looked curious, with all reason too, and prompted further after Mr. Collins had taken his turn in the greeting. “You’re not Misha’s roommate, Jensen, we’ve spoken on the phone…”

“Um no, I’m not,” Mike smiled uncertainly, looking toward Misha. The man stepped toward him and wrapped an arm around his middle, squeezing softly. “Actually, Misha and I are together.”

This obviously hadn’t been what the two were expecting to hear and while they exchanged a look, Mike sent his own toward Misha. The man said they knew he was gay but _god_ they sure didn’t look happy about it. This likely meant they were the type of parents who put up with their gay son but weren’t really all that pleased about it.

“Misha’s never said a word about you, how long have you been together?” Alina asked curiously and gave her son a disapproving frown.

It might have hurt but Mike already knew Misha hadn’t said anything so he shrugged it off. “About four months actually. Feels like forever though.” Mike smiled politely and pulled Misha back to give them more room in the hallway. “Come on in, Misha’s got a roast in the oven and I’m sure you’re both tired from your flight.” He’d already resolved to do as much of the talking as possible, intending on sparing Misha as best he could.

“Son, why don’t you show me to the guest room.” Mr. Collins’ words remained crisp and sharp and if Mike hadn’t known about his military background, he would have instantly pegged the guy as an asshole. Which wasn’t too far off the mark as it was.

Misha just nodded and took the bag from his father, eyes fixed down on the ground, sweeping his hand in the direction of the kitchen. It left Mike alone with Alina but they followed along anyway, stopping in the kitchen. “So, how did you and Misha meet?” She asked and clearly her curiosity was beyond peaked.

“I knew Jensen first actually. We’ve been friends for a few years and I came over one day to hang out,” Mike’s gaze swept over the kitchen and he could still remember that day. The way Misha’s body had swayed with the music as he cooked and how unprepared he was for the future it would lead too. When he looked back up Alina was watching him and Mike had the grace to blush. “So we met that day and then he just kind of, kept showing up. Somewhere along the line we ended up-“ Fucking was the right word to insert here, Mike restrained himself. “Dating. We’ve been together since and it’s been very… amazing.”

“I see,” Alina nodded slowly and trailed his fingers over the creamy counter top, pulling her purse from her shoulder and resting it there. “And does he… talk to you?”

Of course she meant actual talking; something that wasn’t lines from a movie, and Mike bristled in defense. “In the same way he talks to everyone,” Mike said quietly and turned to the fridge. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Water would be lovely, thank you.” Alina smiled but Mike couldn’t tell if it was real or not. There was no saying if the woman approved of him or simply was willing to put up with it in attempt at being the _best parent_.

Honestly? Mike didn’t really care enough to get upset over it. Sure, he cared about Misha and that’s why he was here, but he didn’t need their approval.

-=-=-=-

“So, how is school going Misha?” Alina asked over dinner.

So far the conversation – or lack thereof – had been stilted and awkward with a lot of unanswered questions and Misha silences. This wasn’t really going to make things much better.

“You keep knocking on the devil's door long enough and sooner or later someone's gonna answer you,” Misha murmured and sipped from his water glass. Mike had to shove a quick bite of meat into his mouth to keep from laughing. He was pretty sure Misha wasn’t talking about school at all. It was most likely a reference to life in general but well, Mike was going out on a limb with that one.

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Mr. Collins snapped, setting his fork down loudly.

“Marcus,” Alina chastised, eyes growing wide.

This was how Mike learned Misha’s dad’s name and that Misha flinched whenever the man’s voice was raised. It was thought provoking information that he stored away for later use. It probably wasn’t his place but Mike stepped in. “It means school is busy, crazy, and a bit tough but he gets through it just fine.” A hand squeezed on his thigh and Mike was glad for the reassurance that he’d done the right thing.

“Do you and Misha have some classes together?” Alina asked in a quick, high pitched voice. Obviously she was attempting to keep the conversation from spiraling out of control. It was quite possibly far too late for that.

“Uh, no. but I’m the same year, I know how the feeling goes,” Mike smiled softly and cut at his potatoes. “We spend a lot of time doing homework.”

“Do you work?” Marcus asked. Mike would never call the man Marcus to his face, it seemed like he wouldn’t live through that. Figuratively of course. Hopefully.

“Not right now no,” Mike shook his head and didn’t offer an explanation as to how he provided for himself. No, he wasn’t going to explain himself.

“Life is not the amount of breaths you make; it's the moments that take your breath away.” The soft whisper of Misha’s voice might have been easy to miss if Mike wasn’t already accustomed to listening for it on all occasions.

“That’s a good point Misha honey. Why don’t you eat some more? You’ve hardly touched the food you made and it really is delicious,” Alina urged, cutting off her husband before he could make another comment about the quote.

Marcus scowled down at his meat and Mike felt like he was sitting in the middle of field of land mines, just waiting for someone to slip up and set of the explosion.

Thankfully they managed to get through the rest of the meal without doing that. Mike was just helping Misha clear the table when Jensen and Jared turned up, laughing over whatever they’d been discussing before the pushed the door open - Mike caught the tail end of “then she just _spit_ ” which had his eyebrows lifting. Jensen introduced himself and Jared politely, giving Misha an apologetic look when his parents weren’t looking.

They were gone again within minutes, Jensen gathering up a bag of stuff and insisting staying at Jared’s place for the weekend had nothing to do with the Collins’ visit. It totally and completely did but Mike couldn’t really blame Jensen, if he didn’t love Misha so much he wouldn’t be here either.

A long day of traveling had Alina and Marcus going to bed early, Mike couldn’t even _say_ how thankful he was for that. He and Misha laid in bed in the dark, sharing slow kisses, Mike attempting his own form of covert communication to tell his boyfriend how quickly this would be over and how _okay_ they’d be on the other side of it.

“It’s not fair,” Misha had whispered, eyes slightly wide.

And Mike? He hated seeing that quivering vulnerability in his boyfriend’s eyes and he would do _anything_ to make it go away. Even if that meant admitting he could quote lines from _Labyrinth_ almost as easily as his boyfriend. "You say that so often. I wonder what your basis for comparison is."

This had the desired effect, Misha’s eyes widened, lips curving up in that one smile he got whenever Mike did something to please him. Mike was only a little sad to kiss it away but he couldn’t really resist.

The following day Mike learned that Misha’s parents had never been to visit him on campus. Together, he and his boyfriend gave the older couple a tour and Mike filled in the awkward silences by stating random facts about whatever location they happened to be at – like, that’s where I first learned Frisbee golf can be lethal, and they used to say Harold Winslow, the man who founded the college, liked to sit and eat sunflower seeds there. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone but Alina seemed to be warming up to him so that was something at least.

Over lunch Mike learned that Misha was actually born in Russia while his father was stationed there. And that he was an only child who’d once had a healthy fascination with randomly stripping in inappropriate places. Like a very important government party in which Misha had run, naked, up to the Prime Minster of England at the time and proudly proclaimed he had a penis and could he see it. Which obviously, he could.

The story had Mike and Alina – who was telling it – laughing. Misha was blushing a bright red that matched the ketchup on his plate but Marcus seemed only annoyed. “That got me in a lot of trouble later on,” he grunted and took a long drink from his beer.

Mike kind of wanted to punch the guy but decided learning personal facts about his boyfriend via his mom was a much better way to pass the time. “We moved back to America when Misha was nine but he can still speak Russian fluently can’t you darling? Do you still practice?”

The widening of Misha’s eyes told Mike he wasn’t surprised to be asked this but wasn’t necessarily happy about it either. Lifting his shoulders, Misha half shrugged and stabbed his fork in quick fashion along his salad. Finding out his boyfriend was born in Russia was almost as surprising as finding out he _spoke_ Russian. Mike told himself not to get annoyed at the blatant evidence of how little he knew his boyfriend. Misha needed people on his side right now, especially since his dad was glaring at him in annoyance so evident it was almost painful and, judging from the look in Misha’s eyes, it wasn’t the first time he’d seen it.

“Answer your mother, boy,” the man practically _snarled_ and swerved his fork toward Mike, jabbing it as his mouth opened. “And _you_ , keep your mouth shut.”

Understandably, this made Mike bristle and a response flared in him but Misha’s hand settled on his thigh, an affective warning to, indeed, keep his mouth shut. Which was about as irritating as everything else at this point because _damnit_ Mike wanted to be able to defend not only himself but his boyfriend too. And Misha shouldn’t let his dad speak to him like this because it was _fucked up_.

“Reveal to them everything there is to know about you and let the chips fall where they may.” Misha nearly whispered the words but they were crisp and cool and made Mike feel a little better inside since Misha seemed not to be caving to the pressure.

“God damnit,” Marcus hissed, clenched fist crashing down hard on the table, rattling plates and silverware.

People around them turned to look curiously, Mike could see the manager shifting nervously near the gap in tables by the patio door, could hear Misha’s quickened breath in response to the man’s anger. In an attempt for comforting, Mike slipped his arm around his boyfriend’s middle and squeezed.

“Marcus, please,” Alina whispered urgently, eyes sweeping around the tables, fake smile tight on her lips as her nails curled around her husband’s arm. “Not here. We’re trying to have a nice lunch.”

Truthfully this lunch was anything but nice, in Mike’s book, but well, he could give the woman some kudo points for trying at least. There was something weirdly familiar about these dynamics and Mike had a sickening thought in the pit of his stomach that this wasn’t the first time Misha had been on the receiving end of his father’s anger and Alina had tried to keep it stifled until they were behind closed doors. It opened suggestions of thoughts concerning his boyfriend and the reason he was the person he was today.

“I am exhausted from living up to your expectations of me,” Misha almost gasped the words as if it took real physical effort to get them out. And even though Mike _knew_ they were from a movie – could even tell you which one if you asked – he’d never felt Misha’s sadness so tangible.

“Misha, honey, your father and I…” It apparently was also Alina’s default to apologize on behalf of her husband.

Also, apparently, Misha was done with this for now. He slid out of the booth, shaking his head roughly and pulling his wallet free from his jean pocket. Mike fumbled swiftly after him because there was _no way_ he was being left behind with Misha’s parents.

“How do you become something you're not?” Misha whispered, eyes watery and fixed on his mom for just a moment before he was tossing bills down on the table top and spinning on his heels.

Mike didn’t spare a moment for the couple, choosing instead to hurry quickly after his boyfriend. He caught him just outside the restaurant, snagging him around the middle and pulling him in for a tight hug. “Hey, hey, Mash, it’s alright,” Mike murmured softly into his hair, stroking a hand down his back and pressing in firmly. “It’s alright,” he rocked them steadily, slowly from side to side.

“What kind of mother can’t stand her own son?” Misha gasped against Mike’s skin.

It was odd; the way Mike had thought all of Misha sadness stemmed from his dad and his clear lack of support on behalf of his son. The idea that his mom might be just unsupportive, that her whole _good wife, good mother_ thing was a front, made Mike’s heart clench. “God, Misha, I don’t think… I mean, she _can_ stand you. She loves you. Mother’s always love their son’s.”

When Misha didn’t respond Mike wasn’t that surprised. He heard a sniffled inhale and his eyes slowly closed. Tomorrow they’d be gone, Mike just hoped what they left of his boyfriend was some semblance of the man he loved.

-=-=-=-

Sadly enough, the worst of the Collins’ visit didn’t happen until that evening. The afternoon had been tense and awkward, things bubbling along just under the surface and steadily reaching their breaking point. Dinner had been so thick with tension Mike could feel it pressing on his shoulders, weighing them all down. He’d had to sing songs internally to stop from exploding over the too quiet sounds of clinking silverware and chewing. It made him squirm uncomfortably on his seat, glancing toward his boyfriend who stared down at his food with obvious disinterest.

Alina had gone to bed not long after, claiming the early hour of their departure and a busy day for her exhaustion. The idea of Mike sitting with Misha and Marcus in the living room for the evening was _really_ unappealing. It would have been downright unbearable if they hadn’t been able to find a hockey game on TV. Mike liked hockey, Misha tolerated it and Marcus seemed to be pleased by the idea of something normal so they came to a silent agreement.

Until Jensen called.

“Hello?” Mike had answered curiously because he hadn’t thought he’d hear from Jensen on what should have been his epic weekend of fucking with his boyfriend. According to Jensen things were heating up and Jared was _ready_. Thus, unexplained phone call and _god_ Mike was going to kill Jensen if he was drunk dialing him.

“Mike?” Jensen’s word was hiccupped and half choked and Mike was instantly straightening, all annoyance filtering away to friend in crisis mode.

“Jen? What’s going on?” Mike looked toward his boyfriend, catching his curious and worried eyes.

“It’s… Jared and I. We had a fight and I just left. It’s raining and I’m walking and _freezing_ ,” Jensen inhaled shakily and Mike was already pushing up off the couch, crossing the room quickly to grab his shoes. “C-can you, come get me?”

“I’m on my way Jen, pick and address and stay there alright? Text me,” Mike listened to Jensen’s shaky affirmations that he understood before flipping the phone shut, stuffing it in his pocket. “That was Jensen, he and Jared got in a fight so of course he’s walking through the rain. I…” Mike glanced toward Marcus then back to Misha. “You want to come with me to go get him?”

“Misha should stay,” Marcus spoke up and the hard line to his voice made it clear it wasn’t a suggestion. “We can catch up.”

This was an unpleasant enough idea to have Mike halting halfway through slipping on his jacket. Misha’s eyes were wide and almost scared, and Mike wanted nothing more than to demand his boyfriend join him on the friend rescue. But Misha stayed on his spot on the couch and Jensen was out there somewhere in the freezing rain, not giving Mike much of a choice but to go.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Mike murmured, for Misha only, and turned for the door.

-=-=-=-

“I told him,” Jensen gasped around tear laced words, pulling the blanket harder around himself and shifting on the cool leather seat. Mike thanked the gods he’d gotten leather interior because rain soaked Jensen was very wet. “I said, that it was okay, that we didn’t have too… but he just. He freaked. And I freaked. And, _god_ it got so out of hand so fast.”

Despite all the times Mike _craved_ for a normal conversation with his boyfriend, hearing Jensen like this made him slightly relieved. The fights they did have, like Misha being jealous over Jensen, were so very brief and limited to Misha’s quote quota. “Jen, he’s a virgin right? He’s probably just scared out of his mind.”

Clearly Jensen knew this but something about Mike’s word must have hit home because his eyes widened for a moment before he sighed. “I said some stupid stuff. Maybe we should just go home.”

Currently they were sitting, parked in a lot not too far from Jared’s apartment. Jensen’s first suggestion had been to go home but _damnit_ Mike wasn’t going to let things happen like that. Fights left unaddressed always led to complications. “Let’s just go up to Jared’s place. I’ll walk up with you and if it’s still bad you can get your stuff and we’ll go.”

Not giving Jensen a choice in the issue, Mike started up the car and drove half a mile to Jared’s building, pulling into the vacant space near the front and climbing swiftly out of the car. It wasn’t until he was at Jared’s door that Jensen caught up with him, trying and failing to grasp his arm before he could knock on the door.

It swung open almost instantly and Jared looked at Mike for a moment before turning his eyes to Jensen. “Jen…” Jared breathed, eyes red swollen and puffy from tears.

“God, Jared,” Jensen gasped and stepped forward, throwing his arms around Jared and holding him close. “I’m _so_ sorry. I didn’t mean it, any of it. Please forgive me.”

“I know, I know, it’s okay,” Jared cradled the back of Jensen’s head with a large hand and Mike couldn’t help smiling.

“Are you good now? Because I left my boyfriend alone with his asshole dad and I’m thinking I need to step in before shit hits the fan,” Mike half smiled, leaning against the doorframe for just a moment.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry man, I completely forgot,” Jensen stepped just enough back to look at Mike without detaching himself from Jared. “Is it… is everything okay?”

“Not really, we’ll talk about it later though. Hey did you know Misha was born in Russia?” Mike asked, unable to help himself.

Jensen laughed and shook his head. “No way. That’s fucking awesome.”

“Oh yeah, remind me to tell you about the time he stripped in front of the Prime Minster of England,” Mike grinned, leaving the men with bemused expressions and heading quickly back to his car. Now that the J problem was worked out, his attentions were back on the man and he worried about how things might have played out once he left.

-=-=-=-

There was no part of Mike equipped to handle what he saw when he opened the door to the apartment. For a moment it was almost like a still frame from a movie. Misha was on the floor, blood dripping from his nose, silent tears intermingling and turning the blood pink. Above him stood Marcus, fist clenched tight, face stained red. The pieces were easy enough for Mike to put together and his stomach churned his force down dinner.

Just like that everything sped back up into motion and Mike was across the room before he could even process slamming the door behind him. No rational part of his brain aided in the decision to slam his fist as hard as physically possible into Marcus’ jaw but he did. He didn’t really register the act until he was staring at Marcus’ turned away face and his hand _ached_.

“Get out,” he snarled, standing as protective barrier between father and son.

“What did you just say?” Marcus shifted his stance and tightened his fingers into fists once more, clearly filled with enough pride to not acknowledge what Mike had just done.

“Marcus?” Alina appeared in her baby blue robe, gaze shifting over the scene.

The fact that she didn’t hurry to help her son, still lying bleeding on the floor, was enough to push Mike over the edge. “I said, get the _fuck_ out of my boyfriend’s house. Before I call the cops. You think you can just hit your son and get away with it?” Anger flared so hot and bright up in Mike his nostrils flared with a sharp exhale.

Hearing the word _cops_ seemed to shift something in Marcus and Mike was slightly relieved to know he was intimidating enough for his threat to be taken seriously. “Alina,” the man growled, eyes still fixed on Mike. “Get the bags.”

It was slightly depressing how quickly they managed to leave. In that time Misha refused Mike’s help to get up, as if he were unable to move from the floor until he was absolutely certain he was safe. Mike stood over him, arms across his chest and watching with narrowed eyes when the two returned, now fully dressed. Neither said anything, neither even _looked_ at them and Mike didn’t move until they were out the door and he was crossing to turn the lock swiftly.

“Misha,” he gasped, finally dropping his hard stance and crouching down beside his boyfriend. “Come on, we need to get you up, clean you up and see if there’s damage…”

This time Misha allowed him to pull him up to his feet. Only Mike didn’t stop there, bending slightly he hooked an arm around his boyfriend’s legs and lifted him, carrying him bridal style in the direction of the kitchen. Mike thought on any other occasions Misha would have some witty retort for this. Like, “Mother oh mother oh what shall I do? I've married a man who's unable to screw!” Only because he’d sing the words and even if they didn’t make sense Misha would want to make Mike smile.

Misha didn’t say anything now though. Apparently the events that transpired were enough to outweigh the need to wipe the hard line from Mike’s jaw. If Mike had to guess he’d call the expression on his boyfriend’s face shock. “Misha,” he whispered at the same time he set the man on the counter beside the kitchen sink. Blue eyes flickered up to him for just a moment and Mike sucked in a sharp breath. He’d never seen the man look so… _crushed_. “Give me the child,” Mike said all in a rush, words tripping over each other.

It was one of those things, like a familiar dance or touch. Sometimes Mike just wanted to hear Misha’s voice and would spur him on with quote banter he knew. And even though he bitched and moaned about _Labyrinth_ , he knew the words, the back and forth play. In this instance, Misha should have said, “Sarah beware. I have been generous up till now. I can be cruel.”

But now Misha wasn’t even able to muster up a smile and Mike’s heart tightened so hard in his chest it was painful. The only real option was to check the man out, make sure the damage wasn’t too permanent. Cleaning off a bloody nose provided by the man’s father was nowhere close to ideal. Mike swabbed gently at the mess, careful not to bump his nose too hard just in case. The blood flow had stopped now – which Mike thought had to be a good sign – and he ventured to guess that it wasn’t broken.

“You should take some Advil, you’ll probably be in pain tomorrow,” Mike whispered, the first time he’d dared to speak after the tried and failed quote banter.

Mike would have felt just a little bit better if Misha had at least _nodded_. The only indication he showed that he’d heard Mike was when he took the medicine and glass of water Mike offered a few minutes later. He drained the entire glass before turning to set it in the sink and sliding off the counter. For a moment he swayed, Mike stepped close to help if needed, then he stabilized and walked zombie slow across the kitchen.

The wave of hopelessness that crashed through Mike was almost crushing. More than anything he wanted to ask what had happened, he wanted Misha to tell him _everything_ \- had this happened before, was this the reason he spoke only in quotes. He wanted to _comfort_ him. And damnit, that should be Mike’s place because that’s what people who loved each other did and Mike fucking _loved_ Misha.

“Hey,” he caught up with the man just inside his bedroom, frowning as he watched him slowly bend to unlace his shoes. “Misha, come on, talk to me. Tell me what happened. Has he done this to before?” The questions spilled out of him, impossible to control but necessary regardless. Mike told himself he had a reason to be concerned because if he wasn’t what was the point in even being together?

It was difficult not to be angry when Misha didn’t even turn to look at him. His fingers moved steadily across his waistline, Mike heard the distinct sound of a zipper being dragged down, each little clink an echoing weight in the otherwise silent room. There was just the slightest wheeze to Misha’s air as he inhaled through his nose and his shoulders hunched.

“Misha, we’re not going to get anywhere if you can’t even talk to me,” Mike tried steady breaths to calm himself before it could get too out of hand. He stepped toward his boyfriend and grasped his arm softly, effectively stopping him from pulling his shirt off. “Come on Misha, what’s the point in even having me around if you can’t talk to me? Use quotes, I don’t care, just, let me _help_.”

Mike was caught off guard by the spin of his boyfriend’s body, the arm snapping out to connect with his body and send him stumbling backward. “Don’t touch me!” Misha yelled, too loud, eyes flashing in something definitely laced with anger and underlined with sadness.

Pride and self defense had Mike’s shoulders tensing, heart skipping a beat in his chest. “What the fuck Misha? Did I not just clean up your bloody nose? The one your fucking _dad_ gave you? You expect me not to be worried? Not to ask questions?” And some part of Mike had hoped that Misha wouldn’t take him seriously about the quote thing, that this time out of every other he would finally break down and _talk_ to Mike.

It didn’t seem like Misha was going to cave on anything any time soon. He stared at Mike with those same crystal blue angry eyes and Mike, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten on the receiving end of his boyfriend’s anger.

“Misha!” Mike gasped in surprise and hurt. “What the fuck is this? Why can’t you just talk to me? At least let me comfort you. Why am I even here if you don’t want me?”

“Why don’t you just go then?” Misha hissed, like some sort of snake exhaling the words like venom.

That’s what it felt like, shooting through Mike’s system. “No,” he shook his head roughly and dug hands up into his hair. “I’m not just going to leave you like this but I don’t understand why you’re pushing me away.”

“Go!” Misha yelled once more and the real kicker of the matter was how Mike just _knew_ these were quotes as well.

Like Misha had gone out of his way to look up quotes for this type of situation, like he anticipated this happening. Like he had absolutely no faith in Mike at all. The churning in the pit of Mike’s stomach was worse than just minutes before when he’d clocked Mr. Collins in the jaw. “You don’t mean that.”

“Get out! Leave!” Misha’s fingers dug hard into Mike’s shoulders, shoving him across the room until the wall connected with his back with enough force to drive air out of his lungs.

“Fine,” Mike hissed after the momentary hesitation where shock and disbelief crushed in on him. “Fine, Misha. I’ll go.” Hot tears pricked his eyes and Mike didn’t bother trying to hide them from the man. “You know,” his fingers dug into the edge of the door, gaze sweeping the hallway before him and the path it would take him down. Mike released one of those breathy laughs that people always seemed to make in movies when things weren’t really funny. Maybe one of disbelief. Regardless, the irony was nearly tangible “I’d do anything for you. Always have. I’m the only one who gets you and if you push me away, then that’s gone too.”

The entire walk back through the apartment Mike kept thinking Misha would stop him. He held his breath for it, slowed his steps, lingered with the door knob beneath his palm and squeezed it tight enough to make his still aching hand tingle. No Misha though. Not for the entire length of the hallway to the elevators. Or down the fifty eight steps he chose to take instead of the lift just to draw out the time, give Misha a chance to catch up.

As he slid into his car, rain dripping down his jaw line, it hit him that Misha wasn’t going to come after him. Why he never thought that _Misha_ would be the one to break up with him he didn’t know. Mike thought of himself as pretty likeable. And he had _thought_ that sticking up for the man was the right thing to do. Maybe he was wrong. Either way, there was no message on his machine when he got home and no text in his inbox.

Mike climbed into bed at some point and stared at the ceiling. For some reason he couldn’t get the soundtrack to _Bride and Prejudice_ out of his head and he only saw blue when he closed his eyes. It was the longest night of Mike’s life.

-=-=-=-

The weird thing about relationships, about meeting someone and really _clicking_ , was the time afterward in which it was all over. It wasn’t really weird. More depressing. Mike had had boyfriends before Misha, quite a few actually, but no one had ever changed his life like Misha had. He didn’t even realize it until the morning after, when he’d only slept a few hours and finally climbed out of bed because he could _smell_ Misha there and that was making him want to scream.

Only moving around his apartment didn’t really help get his mind off the ache. As it usually was when you dated someone and they became a fixture in your life, parts of Misha had invaded his home. It was stupid little things, his econ text book on the coffee table, leftover chicken casserole in a dish in the fridge, a _Due South_ t-shirt draped over the back of the couch. Even Mike’s DVD collection was mocking him because he’d never be able to watch a movie again in his life without thinking of the man.

There was a chance they weren’t over. It seemed pretty slim – even more so when Mike called and Misha didn’t answer – but he could probably cling to it for a little while. He would cling to it because facing the alternative, right now, just wasn’t really an option. It was somewhere close to a blur, the way things had played out the night before, and Mike forced himself to relieve it just to see if he could pick the place where they really fell apart.

Jensen showed up at his door around eight Sunday evening. A crazy part of Mike had been hoping he’d find Misha on the other side of the threshold after the knock but it wasn’t the case. Jensen looked confused, asked him immediately what had happened, and Mike lost it. He’d never cried in front of another guy before but that was just a testament to how much the guy affected him. He was crying over Misha now, lying in Jensen’s arms on the couch as he recounted the entire horrible tale.

“But I don’t understand,” Jensen said quietly and, though he’d probably tease Mike about it later, stroked a hand through Mike’s hair. “What did you do? I mean, yeah punching his dad probably wasn’t the best idea but come on, the guy gave Misha a bloody nose.”

“I know,” Mike sighed and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to ask, he didn’t want to know, but the words came regardless. “How is he?”

The momentary pause was enough for Mike to brace himself. He could hear Jensen’s soft inhale and slightly shaky exhale. It didn’t sound promising. “He’s… from what I can tell he’s a wreck. When I got home this afternoon he was sitting in his room, just holding your shirt. He didn’t say anything the entire time. He doesn’t even look like he’s slept.”

A sharp pinch slammed into his heart and Mike sat up, dragging both hands up through his hair and digging his nails into his scalp. “Jesus, what the fuck am I supposed to do?” His eyes turned over to Jensen and the man shrugged. “This can’t be it for us. I can’t- god. I’m not ready for this to be over. I don’t _want_ it to be.”

“Well, maybe you should go talk to him then,” Jensen suggested, sitting up as well and laying a hand on Mike’s shoulder, squeezing.

In theory it was a good idea, maybe even the right one, but Mike shook his head. “I can only give so much you know? At some point in time, something’s gotta give.”

They sat in silence for two beats before Jensen laughed, loud and clear. “Oh god, if you start talking in movie titles I’m going to kill you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mike only half laughed and dropped his head between his hands. How was he ever going to get over this?

-=-=-=-

The worst thing about Mondays, besides it being the start of the week and this particular one following the worst weekend of his life, was his advance education class and the fact that the teacher was fond of assigning four chapters of reading at a time before their class the following Wednesday. None of that was really the issue here though. No, it was the fact that his adult education book was currently spending some quality time with Misha’s giant English lit book on _Misha’s_ desk.

This basically meant Mike was fucked.

Jensen, of course, refused to get the book for him. Because he was an asshole like that and probably because Mike had made the man talk to his own boyfriend when they were fighting a few nights ago. Naturally that would come back to bite him in the ass, no good deed goes unpunished and all that shit. Fucking fate and logic and _school_ that was forcing him to face down the man he was in love with after being so ruthlessly dumped not two nights before. There should be an excuse from homework assignments for those reasons alone.

Since Mike couldn’t imagine going up to his Professor and saying, “excuse me I couldn’t read the assignment because I punched my boyfriend’s dad and he kicked me out using quotes from _The Notebook_ and my book is there,” he was pacing his apartment. In truth he was attempting to muster up the nerve to go to Misha’s, wondering if he could time it for when Misha would be gone and he could use his key.

Mike was just contemplating going to buy another copy of the book from the campus bookstore when someone knocked on his door. He refused to acknowledge the part of him that hoped it might be _him_ and instead hoped it would be Jensen, having changed his mind about not bringing his book by. If that were the case Mike was going to buy the man a beer. And maybe some pot, if he agreed to share because Mike could get on board with being drunk stoned right now, homework be damned.

It was Misha. Which should have come with an _of course_ because Mike looked like shit, face pale, hair scruffy, eyes red. And _no_ he hadn’t been crying over the man – maybe just a little – but he knew he looked like it.

“Misha,” he whispered and flinched because it sounded pathetic and sad even to his own ears.

Another of course, Misha being amazing enough to produce his adult education book and a venti white chocolate moca, Mike’s caffeine beverage of choice whenever a late night of reading was at hand. Mike stood in the doorway, watching him shuffle from foot to foot, his gaze fixed down on the ground.

“This… is about me okay? This is not you.” Misha whispered and for just a moment Mike saw crystal clear blue magnified by shiny tears. There was bruise on his nose, deep purple and across the bridge, Mike winced in sympathy.

Still.

“Is that a quote?” He asked quietly, not even sure why he bothered because he _knew_ it was. Not officially, he couldn’t say what movie it was from but Mike should know better than to expect otherwise. His heart still clenched slightly when Misha nodded in affirmation however. Mike sighed and stepped away from the door enough to let the man pass. “Thanks for bringing my book by. Reading assignment.”

Misha took slow, precise steps inside and offered Mike the book and the coffee and a sad, broken little frown. It shouldn’t be fair for one look to make Mike want to melt and forget all the crap built up between them in the last forty eight hours. Mike thought that once upon a time he used to be completely in control of both his heart and mind.

Then he met Misha.

“Mike,” the man breathed and it was more than just that. It was _please forgive me_ and _please just understand what I’m trying to say because I’m not strong enough to actually say it, because I don’t have the words but I know you get it, you always do._

All of this was true. But Mike wished he was stronger, more proud or something. People all have limitations and they were hitting this brick wall now, they were going to hit it again. And again and again until it broke them down so bad there would be nothing left but a shared bitter outlook on love for the rest of their lives. Mike didn’t know what he wanted, or he did but the very aspect scared him. Being without Misha, it was painful and it would _suck_ more than he could gather from the two days experiencing it thus far.

Being with him though? Would he spend the rest of his life trying to guess what Misha was saying through quotes? When they fought – which they would – would he be sent away as quickly as he had been this time? All of these risks piling up one after another and Mike had to stumble back and lean against the wall just to make sure he didn’t pass out.

“I don’t know Mash,” Mike whispered and caught just the edge of Misha’s full body shudder at the nickname that had truthfully slipped unconsciously past his lips. Mike dragged his hand down his face, attempting to rub away the anxiety creeping up in him. “You’re so many things, Jesus Misha, you’re _everything_ to me. And I love you, you know I do. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

Their gazes met and the silent _but_ at the end of the sentence stretched out between them, filling the three or so feet and causing Misha’s shoulders to drop. Mike felt guilty. The need to be heard though, the need for Misha to _understand_ had him continuing.

“I hate that I didn’t know you were born in Russia. I hate that I learned what you’re studying from Jensen, that I’ve had to guess your favorite food and color. I love you more than life itself Misha but I just can’t live like this. Not always. Not for the rest of my life and that’s what I want to have with you.” Mike forced his eyes up for the first time during his little speech. He shouldn’t have. Tears were bright and reflecting pools of ocean blue and Mike literally _gasped_. “Misha…”

In three quick strides Misha was across the room, up in his space, hands trailing down his chest in continuous movement. Mike hadn’t even realized he’d set down the coffee and text book. Quick little sobs fell like whimpers from the man’s mouth and he shook his head roughly from side to side. “Mike. Mike. Please. Please don’t-“ He wrapped arms tight around the man and squeezed hard enough it almost hurt to breathe.

“God,” Mike gasped, eyes fluttering closed as he worked through assaulted waves of heat, want and sadness.

“Please. Please, Mike,” Misha continued to whisper, clipped, tight words. “Love you. Love you. Please. Just, one more, one more chance. I’ll try. I’ll try. Please.”

It continued like this for awhile, quick rushed words against the edge of his ear. They weren’t quotes, Mike was aware of this just as he was aware of the sharp flutter in his heart that told him there was no way he would be strong enough to turn Misha down. “Hey, Mash,” Mike finally murmured when he’d almost gotten his fill of hearing the echoing words. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

They were kissing in the next moment, languid and deep, lips sweeping and passing, tongues grazing and colliding. It shifted from heat, heat, _heat_ to slow, drawn out, _love_. There were a thousand things Misha was trying to say with the thrust forward of his tongue, the rock and grind of hips, nails digging into his scalp. And Mike didn’t even have to _try_ to decipher what meaning he was going for.

It was _please don’t let me go_ and _let us be okay_. And Mike answered just as silently with the squeezing of hipbones - _not letting you go_ \- and the brush of skin under his thumb just above jeans - _we’re okay, more than okay_. Weirdly enough they were. Because it worked like that, for them, this silent communication spread out from the contrast of too overloaded kisses and muted more gentle touches.

Mike’s hip collided with the edge of the couch. Misha stepped on his toes. They hit the wall and gasped in unison but skin burned beneath his finger tips and Mike wouldn’t stop this for anything. Nails curled in his hair, tugged him back, teeth slid along his skin, fingers pulled at clothes. They were naked before they’d reached the bedroom, falling in a heap onto the mattress and instantly tangling together.

It was desperate, so much all at once but more than amazing. Mike would never be able to perfectly capture in words the way Misha’s body arched into his. He wished he could take a picture of this moment, or freeze it, savor the salty warmth along his tongue for minutes and hours and days. Mike dragged his palms down Misha’s chest, gripped hipbones tight, slid across to brush his finger tips along red swollen flesh.

A low guttural moan echoed around them, blanketed them in thick heavy lust that spurred Mike into action. “Want you,” he murmured into his lover’s lips and shoved his hand under the pillow for the bottle of lube there.

“Need you,” Misha whispered back, eyes clenched shut; lips parting in a perfect O with the gentle forward nudge of fingers inside him.

Mike’s brain was processing too much to attempt more; otherwise Misha’s words might have tipped him over the edge immediately. Beneath him was constantly writhing flesh, tight muscles encasing his fingers in a sloppy fast preparation that was just enough to ensure the man wouldn’t feel unnecessary pain. And they both knew Misha liked some of the burn, he was just kinky enough for that.

“Love-“ Misha gasped, cutting off sharply as Mike hooked his legs over his shoulders, gripped his hips and drove down hard. Being connected like this, feeling Misha around every inch of him, was one of the _best_ things he’d ever felt.

It was always too fast, now even more so it seemed. Mike held Misha down into the mattress, pushing him up along the blankets with each drive forward, groaning each time his lover’s muscles tightened around him. Their bodies were in constant movement, together apart, thrust and roll, lips meeting and passing and sliding with each dip down.

Then it was that moment, when everything froze around them for just a second and sharp little thrills of mind numbing pleasure coursed through him on overdrive. Sparks flared down his spine and Mike’s hips stuttered into Misha’s ass, hand dropping between them to stroke his lover to completion as swiftly as possible. Mike _hated_ that it could be over so quickly but _loved_ knowing there would be more, soon. Very soon.

“Mike?” Misha asked quietly after an extended silence, once their breaths were back to normal and their bodies were curled and cool along the mattress.

“Yeah Mash, we’re good,” Mike answered the unasked questioned and pressed a hard kiss to his collarbone. And they were, good at least. In love, definitely, And for now, that would be enough.


End file.
